FOTA: Reborn
by Angelsama
Summary: What would happen if FF8 characters were taken to this planet - and then had kids? What if the parents then vanished? This story follows the son of Squall and Rinoa as he attempts to come to terms with his heriatge and survive in a post-apocalyptic plan


Scanning....... Scanning.......  
  
No lifesigns detected. No plantlife detected. Percentage survivors: 0%  
  
Checking against mission parameters......... Checking....... Checking.......  
  
Success rating = 100%  
  
Chris lowered the palm scanner and surveyed the scene for himself. The city below him was ablaze. The troops had evidently had their fill of their favourite pastime of rape and pillage, having now decided to burn the place to the ground. He sighed, wondering for the hundredth time that day what the point was. His organisation was already in control of the entire West Coast. Did they really NEED to impose themselves upon people just trying to carve out a little life of their own? Apparently, yes. This village had neglected to pay "insurance premiums" to the Lion Order, his employers, instead opting in with a rival corporation. More fool them, Chris thought. Every citizen of the world knew how the continents were divided. What used to be North America was ruled by the Lion Order and the Disciples of Sha'hla, both constantly at war with each other. Most of Europe had been sunk years ago and Australia was ruled by the iron fist of the Adepts of Kane, the last bastion of the evil force that had almost overwhelmed the world not so long ago. The continents of Asia and Africa had been rendered inhospitable by a bloody nuclear war. Now only twisted mutants lived there. As well as the monsters. The monsters inhabited every location on the planet. There was no escaping it. Ever since they were unleashed by the very forces that now inhabit the islands of Australia and New Zealand, the monsters had settled into the planet as if it belonged to them. Nobody could escape them; it was futile to attempt to find anywhere they hadn't tainted. Look in a trash can anywhere, you would be highly likely to find one of those godforsaken baby Caterpchillar in it. Although, Chris thought, it would be a hell of a lot easier if they were the ONLY ones to worry about. Those could be found young and exterminated. It was the larger monsters that caused the problems. The Malboro, now stalking most of the continent. The T-Rexaur, resembling the legendary beasts that used to roam the planet, seemingly returned by the dark forces. Then there were the dragons. Chris glowered as he thought of them. Big bastards, some of them fire breathing, all with bloody sharp claws and teeth. He shuddered as the thought of the one time he'd actually come face to face with one. He had been lucky to escape with his life. Of course, there was always Japan. Somehow, they seemed to have avoided the curse of the monsters, the downfall that affected everywhere on the planet. But naturally, they refused to let any outsiders as much as touch their soil. Not that I blame them, Chris sighed. As a nation, superstition and mythology had always been a large factor, so they probably thought the rest of the world would bring them down too if allowed too near.  
  
Chris shook himself from his thoughts. Time to concentrate on the task at hand. His superiors would be arriving soon to check on his progress. Turning from the burning village, he began to walk down the clifftop he had been standing upon. A gust of wind blew past, causing his long blond hair to fly out behind him, his leather jacket billowing out as well. Underneath the jacket was his favoured attire when on missions he might be required to personally intervene in, a black t-shirt and a pair of thick jeans, ended with a pair of sturdy black leather boots. Nothing flashy, just enough to keep out the elements and provide some form of protection against foes. His jeans and boots were run of the mill, nothing out of the ordinary. His shirt was special, however. It was a memento from his mother, something she had made especially for him. Oddly, he had never grown out of it in his 20 years, despite the fact that he was obviously larger than in his childhood. Also, it had never ripped or torn. There appeared to be some sort of enchantment within it, an invisible force somehow deflected blades directed towards his torso. Chris smiled to himself. Enchantment? Magic? That was kid's talk. Idle fantasy. Everyone knows magic doesn't exist. Well, most people. There were certain sects who claimed it was real and that they could wield it, who challenged non-believers like himself to explain away the existence of the monsters without it. Nobody ever had, but that didn't prove anything. Then there were those believers who challenged the appearance of Chris' own parents. He frowned as he recalled it. The Lion Order had intercepted a spy from the Disciples who had somehow managed to penetrate the usually tight security arrangements. Chris himself had been given the task of executing the vermin. Pest control had never been a favoured job of his, but he knew better than to question orders. Truth be told, that was why so many of his comrades remained with the Order, as did he. It was out of fear of what would happen to them should they turn their backs on their "employers". Employers being a loose term, of course. Masters was perhaps closer. That was why he was here, after all. He only carried out the destruction of this particular town because he had to. The spy had said as much. That was when he had brought up Chris' parents. The mention of them at all had thrown him. Hardly anyone in his OWN order knew of his lineage and the answer the Sha'hla worshipper had given was unsatisfactory. He had claimed to know of magic, used it to describe away his knowledge. Secretly, Chris had wondered if he was telling the truth. His parents had seemingly appeared from nowhere to oppose the demon Kane when he raised his army and marched upon the world, reducing it to the burnt- out husk it now was, a shadow of its former self. In fact, his mother had told him many stories when he was younger about the world they came from. A peaceful place, once torn by war but then united by a global desire for an end to conflict. Apparently, it had been his father who had accomplished this, bringing the nations together with the assistance of his own father, Chris' grandfather, who used to be a famous president. Kane had torn them from their world by mistake, an error which proved to be his undoing.  
  
Chris checked himself. Thinking like that was dangerous. Of course his parents didn't come from an alternate reality. Magic was just a belief of the Sha'hla worshippers, spread to cause fear amongst the populace and to undermine the efforts of the Lion Order. But the spy HAD known an awful lot about his parents, especially his father, the legendary Squall Leonhart. He had recited a lot of things that Squall had told Chris during the few years before he disappeared, along with his wife, Chris' mother, Rinoa Leonhart and the rest of their comrades who had orchestrated the downfall of Kane. But then, Chris thought, that only serves to show just how deep the Sha'hla corruption went, that they even spied on the world's saviours. Truly, there was nothing they wouldn't stoop to.  
  
Chris paused as he reached the bottom of the slope to take in the sights around him. The men under his command had returned from the sacking of the village and were now indulging in their usual celebrations. The few women who had lived in the town who had been "lucky" enough to escape their attention during the raid were now being forced to perform all manner of carnal acts with their captors, while their husbands, fathers, brothers and sons were led away, chained like animals being taken to the slaughterhouse. They should be so lucky, Chris muttered under his breath. He knew what happened to the slaves taken. They would be put to work in the factories of the Order, making the weapons and ammunition so that the Order's agents could go and enslave more people. It stunk, but what else was there? Better to be on the right hand of the devil that in his path. Often, Chris had secretly fantasised about leading a glorious rebellion, gathering the slaves and overthrowing the Order as well as the corrupt Sha'hla worshippers, forging a new, better world order. That was probably what his father would have done. Chris sighed to himself. He knew his father had been a great man, greater than Chris ever hoped to become, but that didn't stop him going missing. Killed, captured, sacrificed, nobody had ever found out what had happened to the six heroes of the darkness war. Squall and Rinoa Leonhart, Chris' parents. Irvine and Selphie Kinneas, another couple. Then there was Zell Dincht and Quistis Trepe. Even though Chris was only a small child of 4 years when they vanished and he was taken in by the Order, he had fond memories of them, his extended family. Squall was generally quiet and reserved amongst others, but when he was alone with his wife and son, there was another side to him. Squall was a devoted family man and Rinoa was just as dedicated to him as he was to her. The bond they had was amazing. Irvine, Chris' godfather and Selphie, Chris' godmother, were interesting. He hadn't realised it at the time, but Irvine was seen as those who didn't know him as the consummate ladies man, while Selphie was flighty and energetic. However, Irvine's flirting was just something he did, it never meant anything, while Selphie was frighteningly devoted at times and could also be surprisingly serious. Zell, Chris had never really gotten to know that well. Squall and Zell had a bond forged in battle, it was true, but even through his childish eyes Chris had been able to tell that Squall often merely put up with Zell. Quistis was the most confusing. She kept to herself a lot, not really joining in with the others. Once, Chris had wandered into her room and found her crying over an old photo frame. She had hidden it and shooed him out, trying to hide what she had been doing from him, but he had seen the photo. It was Quistis and a strange looking man. He had shoulder-length blue hair and a large smile, together with somewhat spellbinding eyes. He had asked his mother about the man, but she always avoided the question. Once, Irvine had sat him down to explain it to him. Said that the man was someone Quisty - Irvine always used shortened names whenever he could - had fallen deeply in love with a long time ago, but was torn from her by the same demon they had decided to oppose. The only other thing he would tell Chris was the man's name - Se'tath.  
  
Once again, Chris was shaken from his thoughts by the sound of screams coming from the camps. He shivered - god only knew what the sick, twisted creatures that passed for his troops were doing to the poor souls in there. He knew that a long time ago, before the coming of Kane, when America was still divided into states, that sodomy had been illegal in several places. Evidently, his men were taking full advantage of the fact that laws were a thing of the pass, judging by some of the cries. He walked past, trying to shut out the cries as best he could, making his way to the hastily cleared landing pad with a large 'H' painted in the centre. Looking into the sky, he could make out the bright light of his commander's helicopter through the evening sky. He put a hand up to shield his eyes from the gusts of the rotor blades as the chopper landed and a tall, powerfully built man stepped out. He was a good foot taller than Chris, and Chris was tall. He wore a striking black business suit, offset by the deep purple shirt worn underneath the jacket, accompanied by a tie in a slightly darker shade of the same purple. His black hair was slicked back, so that the shape of his skull could be seen reflected in the outline of his hair. He wore a pair of black sunglasses, with a small grey contraption on the side. Chris knew what it was - his own pair had a similar device attached. It could receive battle data, scan for basic lifesigns and could serve as a rudimentary metal detector - useful, seeing as a great many people would love to kill the upper Order members. The man crossed over to where Chris was standing and looked over his subordinate's shoulder at the sickening scenes in the men's camp. "I trust everything went to plan?" Chris adopted the rigid stance required by the Order when being addressed by a superior, and snapped off a smart salute. "Yes sir. All survivors have been...detained as per usual." "And the village?" "Burned, as orders dictated." Chris hated himself for not striking the man down where he stood, but he knew better. It wouldn't help the people from the village, if anything would only make matters worse. "Excellent. Give the order to pull out, then return to me. I have instructions to bring you directly to the High Council." Chris blinked. The Council? What would they want with a lowly field operative such as him? Unless.....had they made the discovery about his heritage? Chris prayed not. There was a 50/50 chance he would either be promoted to single agent or executed, depending largely upon the mood of the Council members. He tried to keep fear from his voice as he responded. Showing signs of weakness would be a very bad idea. "Yes, sir. Permission to speak freely sir?" The commander's eyebrow could be seen to ever so slightly raise behind his glasses. "Granted." "What do the Council want with me, sir? Surely their valuable time would be better spent with other, more valuable matters?" "Do you question the Council's judgement, agent?" Chris cursed himself. He should learn when to stop talking. "No, sir. I meant no offence, sir. I shall go pass on the withdrawal order to the men." He turned and went back towards the camp, bracing himself for the godawful stench that probably awaited him there.  
  
A Chris Bailey fanfiction:  
  
Flight of the Angel Chapter one: Birth of an Angel  
  
Chris looked out of the chopper window as they approached the headquarters of the Lion Order. It was an enormous building, situated at the heart of what used to be known as Los Angeles, the city of lost angels. Something of a change, Chris thought. From the abode of angels to quite possibly the first city of hell. In fact, the new name had been corrupted over time to the city of fallen angels. At least, it was to those poor sods taken from the last mission who were being transported back here for "processing". However, Chris found it difficult to feel sorry for them. He was too worried about his own neck. His old roommate in the officer's mess had been summoned to the Council once before. That was why he became an old roommate. He went up to the highest floor his clearance allowed and threw himself out of the window. Momentarily, Chris considered tossing himself out of the chopper now, getting it over with. Save everyone the bother. But he knew that would be a futile gesture. The Council wished to see him and nothing anyone could do would prevent them. Even if he tried to throw himself out now, the commander sitting next to him had artificially enhanced muscles, as did all of his sort. He was at least 10 times faster and stronger that Chris was. If needed, he could probably support Chris by hooking his little finger through the belt loop on Chris' jeans and dangling him from the aircraft for the duration of the landing. He wouldn't put it past him either. All the commanders were notoriously sadistic. Chris sighed quietly to himself and pushed back into his seat, wishing it would swallow him whole, rather than being picked apart by the Council in a few hours time. He thought of the old vid-screen playbacks he liked to watch in his free time, from back at the beginning of the century. He was fond of nature documentaries. He knew he was about to feel like a zebra on the Serengeti, being picked apart by ravenous vultures. At the moment, he wished he really WAS a zebra being picked apart by vultures. It would probably be less painful. 


End file.
